Highly Contagious
by Goddess-of-the-Night04
Summary: When John gets a cold sore and tells Sherlock he can't kiss him for a week or more, Sherlock has a difficult time coping.


**Disclaimer: **I own no part of the BBC Sherlock world and make no money from this.

**A/N: **This idea came about thanks to my canker sore (different than cold sores and not contagious) of the moment.

* * *

It's a bright Saturday mid-morning when Sherlock leaves his room after a good night's sleep. He finished an extensive case the evening before and didn't argue when John pulled him in to their bed and wrapped his shorter body around his, lulling him in to sleep.

When he enters the living room he notices John sitting at the desk on his laptop and holding a towel to his mouth.

"John?" He asks, blinking the remainder of sleep from his eyes to assess how and when the other man became injured.

He looks up from his computer and Sherlock can see the right side of his mouth tip up slightly in a smile, "Good morning," it comes out a little muffled.

"Are you injured?" Sherlock asks as he approaches him, "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

John snorts and shakes his head, smirk still in place, "It's just a cold sore; popped up suddenly this morning."

Sherlock looks confused, "A what?"

"A cold sore," he repeats.

Sherlock's eyes show that he still clearly does not understand, so he walks over to John and slowly removes his hand from his face to see it.

"You've never seen one before?" John asks, self-conscious about the mark on the left side of his mouth as he always gets. He's gotten cold sores on and off for most of his life, and he suspects his mother passed him the virus when he was young.

"No," Sherlock says distractedly as he examines it. He goes to touch it out of habit but John quickly grabs his hand before he can.

"You can't touch it. Not only does it hurt, but it's also contagious."

This gets his attention, "How contagious?"

"Very. As in _'I won't be kissing you again any time soon'_ very."

John can't help but smile - though it causes a bit of pain in the sore - as he sees Sherlock pout at the news.

"Does the ice help it get better faster?" He asks as he moves John's hand still holding the ice wrapped in a towel back to his mouth.

"No," John sighs in frustration, "it makes it feel a bit better, though. I'll have to go out later and get more cream that does help it heal and feel better, but I wanted to check on some things first," he motions to his laptop.

Sherlock leans down and kisses his forehead softly, "How long does it take to heal?"

"Usually about a week for me, sometimes longer."

The pout deepens, "And you're contagious the _entire _time?"

John chuckles again, "Yes, the _entire time_. And I must insist you not try to kiss my mouth; this is a form of punishment I would not wish on my worst enemy," he says and then gets a glint in his eye, "Well, maybe Moriarty; he _did _try to blow me up, after all."

Sherlock growls quietly at the memory before turning to the kitchen and his experiments. About a half hour later John pops off to the store to get his cream and some groceries, and Sherlock moves to his laptop to look up more information on cold sores.

"You weren't kidding when you said you won't be kissing me any time soon, were you?" Sherlock asks when John returns.

John hefts the bags on to a free part of the kitchen table, "No. Kissing you anywhere, not just the mouth, could pass the virus to you and I won't do that."

"But I can kiss you?" He asks hopefully.

"Anywhere but the mouth, technically, but it's best not to just in case."

Sherlock slams his laptop closed in frustration and moves back to his experiments.

"Just think of it as a challenge," John offers as he puts the items away.

"A challenge not to touch you for a week? Why in God's name would you think that would appeal to me?" He grumps.

"A week or longer," John corrects as he opens the cream and moves towards the bathroom.

Sherlock ignores him for the rest of Day 1.

Day 2 John is woken by Sherlock announcing that they have a case. After dressing quickly, he moves towards the bathroom.

"There's no time, John!" Sherlock is bouncing on his heels.

John gives him a look and calmly asks, "Do you want me better sooner or not?"

Sherlock stops moving and blinks as though he forgot all about the cold sore, "Of course I do. Idiot."

"Then you have to let me put the cream on before we go; it'll take 20 seconds."

Sherlock huffs but doesn't put up any more fight. 30 seconds later they're out the door and on their way to meet New Scotland Yard at a park where a kidnapping took place.

Sherlock sets in on the scene immediately, grumping at anyone who dares ask him any questions, valid though they may be.

"God, he seems like more of a dick today than usual," Greg remarks to John off to the side.

"Yeah," John replies solemnly. The sore is throbbing since the medicine hasn't had time to kick in yet.

"What happened; you tell him he can't have any more body parts in the fridge or something?"

John quirks the right side of his mouth so as not to hurt the sore. He can't tell Greg the truth because no one knows they're a couple; they haven't had the right opportunity to tell them and, quite frankly, neither of them think it's anyone else's business.

"You say that like it would actually work if I tried."

Greg laughs and looks over at him, his eyes falling to John's mouth, "You look fucking miserable yourself. That cold sore looks atrocious."

"Do you get them?" John asks.

He sneers, "Yes. Made the mistake of kissing my ex-wife while she had one. Definitely not worth it."

John snorts again, "I can imagine you wouldn't think so."

Sherlock only needs 15 minutes to figure out that it was staged by the parents for the nanny to take the fall. They wouldn't be able to pay the ransom that the nanny was "asking for" leaving the husband's rich parents to pay it and them to split the profits.

He strides towards the street, calling to John on the way. They head home and John sits on the couch to watch a movie, enjoying his Sunday. Sherlock lays his head on John's lap before entering his mind palace. Neither move except to eat or use the bathroom for the rest of the day.

Day 3 John wakes up as the little spoon, Sherlock's nose buried in his hair and his arms wrapped securely around him. John sighs contentedly and squirms backwards in to the embrace slightly, only to feel Sherlock's arms tighten and a kiss to be placed on the back of his neck.

"You 'wake?" John asks sleepily.

"Never went to sleep," he answers honestly.

John smiles wide, taking note that the pain on the left side of his mouth has diminished a little today, "You're a sentimental bastard sometimes, you know that?"

He grunts and then mumbles, "I just miss you."

John laces the fingers of his left hand with Sherlock's and squeezes gently, "I haven't gone anywhere."

"Clearly. But having to think before I touch you changes things. I hate that I can't just pull you to me, or grab your face and snog you senseless."

"You're adorable when you pout, you know," John says affectionately, not even needing to turn to see his face to picture said pout.

"Adorable?!" He sounds scandalized and pushes away from John a bit.

John turns so he's on his back, smiling up at him, "Yeah," he nods.

"How about classically handsome and roguish?" He teases with a gleam in his eye.

"How about devastatingly sexy and all mine?"

Sherlock's eyes darken and he moves his head closer to John's. John places his left hand on Sherlock's chest and his right on his neck to stop the kiss, "No, love. Don't even think about it."

Sherlock lets out the world's most pathetic whine and flops down on to his pillow in defeat, "This is so much worse than I thought it would be. Why aren't you better yet?"

John laughs at his petulant tone, "It's no picnic for me, either, but I promise I'm trying to will myself better as soon as possible."

Day 4 it's John's turn to lay his head in Sherlock's lap as they spend time on the couch. John pretended that he was going to watch a movie, but really fell asleep within the first half hour. When Sherlock reaches the end of a chapter in the book he's reading, he looks down at John and smiles affectionately. He places his book on the arm of the couch before beginning to card his left hand through John's soft hair. John smiles and moves his head further in to the touch, and minutes later is blearily opening his eyes.

"Love you," he mumbles sleepily when he catches Sherlock looking at him.

Sherlock smiles and leans down, tilting his head slightly, and kisses him softly on the mouth before either of them can stop him.

"Ah!" John gasps in slight pain as he bolts up and turns so he's facing Sherlock from the other side of the couch, "Sherlock!" he shouts accusingly.

Sherlock looks confused and then a bit nervous, "Not good."

"No, not good!"

John can tell Sherlock is calculating something in his head. Finding his answer, Sherlock practically launches himself at John and kisses him firmly on the mouth. John only allows it for a second because he missed the feeling of Sherlock's lips against his, then he pushes him back gently.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asks, hands still on his chest.

"I figured that I already exposed myself with the first kiss and it wasn't even worth it," he says and then smirks with a devilish gleam in his eye, "Second one was, though."

John rolls his eyes, "You're an idiot. Couldn't wait a few more days?" he asks affectionately.

"I've been thinking about it; this is something that you're going to have happen sporadically throughout the rest of your life, and I refuse to stay separated from you during it. It was foolish of us to think that was going to work."

John is surprised by the wave of emotion that rolls through him at this declaration. He fists his hands in Sherlock's shirt still in his palms and pulls him in for another kiss, but breaks apart when the stab of pain registers in his brain.

He laughs, "I love you, but you're going to hate me if you get a cold sore."

Sherlock smirks confidently, "Worth it."

Day 8 they are at another crime scene with New Scotland Yard, and Sherlock is again in a foul mood. Greg and John stay off to the side and try their best not to make any sudden movements to draw his attention. Once he's finished, he stalks over to the pair and stands beside John facing Greg.

"You're looking for a male in his early 20s with a pet monkey."

"What? A _monkey_?" Greg asks, shocked.

"That's what I said," Sherlock practically hisses.

That's when Greg notices it: a cold sore on the right side of Sherlock's mouth, probably the pain from which that is causing the temper.

"Now you have one?" He asks, pointing to it, "That's funny, John and I were just talking about those last…" he trails off, noticing the mirror image cold sores both men are sporting.

The men blush and try to hide the marks on their faces.

"Well…" Greg clears his throat awkwardly, looking anywhere but at the pair, "I'll just…go and find a monkey, then, shall I?" he says and then walks away.

John groans from embarrassment and Sherlock follows with one of pain, "Let's go home; I need more ice."

"Still think it's worth it?" He smirks as they move to grab a cab.

"Shut up, John," he mutters grumpily as they get in to the vehicle. They sit in silence for most of the ride before Sherlock blindly reaches out his left hand to grab John's right and whispering, "You're always worth it, you know that," to the window.

John smiles wide before turning the other man's face to him, "Sentimental bastard," he says lovingly before leaning forward and kissing him softly. Sherlock hisses in pain and pulls away while John just chuckles and squeezes his hand reassuringly.

* * *

**A/N: **I know that the virus probably doesn't make the cold sore appear exactly where it first touched, but I've always thought it would be a funny, incriminating happenstance.

Take this for what it is or what you'd like it to be. Either way works for me, but I'd love to hear your thoughts either way!


End file.
